


three's a crowd

by mercuryandglass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rigel Black Series - murkybluematter
Genre: F/M, Gen, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, Pre-Relationship, Rigel Black Exchange, Round 1, Third wheeling - a study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryandglass/pseuds/mercuryandglass
Summary: Growing up is hard. Relationships are harder, even more so when everyone involved are emotionally repressed Slytherins.
Relationships: Aldon Rosier & Alesana Selwyn (contentiously), Edmund Rookwood & Aldon Rosier, Edmund Rookwood & Alesana Selwyn, Edmund Rookwood/Alesana Selwyn (pre-establishment), One-sided Edmund Rookwood/Aldon Rosier if you squint
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26
Collections: Rigel Black Exchange Round 1





	1. of the same feather (a bird)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitsunerei88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/gifts).



> Hope you like your gift, Kit!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question: Who came first, Aldon and Edmund or Edmund and Aldon?  
> The answer: Edmund and Alice.

A vortex appeared and deepened in the creamy surface of Aldon's chocolate. Softly, as if in replacement for the lack of a ticking clock in the room, came the steady chime of silverware on porcelain: _clink, clink cl—_

A hand lay itself on his knee, elegantly gloved in acromantula silk dyed a deep peacock blue.

 _Clink_ , Aldon stirred for the last time. He lifted his spoon and waited as the foam dripped from the tip, until the silverware shone as if he had never touched it in the first place. Then, silently, he placed it back on his saucer.

The hand on his knee retreated.

He looked up to his mother.

Carefully, the Lady Rosier picked up her delicate teacup. Morning sunlight spilled through the windows, refracting through amber tea to cast a dark shadow through thin porcelain. She sipped elegantly, then slowly set the cup back down in its saucer. Its liquid surface trembled in concentric arcs.

An itch crawled into the crevices under Aldon’s kneecap, compelling him to tap his leg. He ignored it.

An eternity later, the thin, squeaky voice of a house elf echoed down the hallway.

Aldon stood up immediately, hands skimming precariously close to the table as he hopped down from the chair. He looked to his mother, who took one last sip from her near-full teacup before setting it down and folding her hands in her lap.

Footsteps approached, two sets of shoes clicking smartly against the hardwood floors.

There was the faint pop of a house elf disappearing, and Aldon’s mother stood up just as her guests rounded the corner, a languid but welcoming smile pasted over her features. “Cecilia! And young Edmund! How have you been?”

Edmund Rookwood bowed politely in greeting before stepping back, almost as if to hide behind his mother. He wore practical robes of fine make, in a deep charcoal grey that stood out starkly against the tearoom's gilded decor. His gaze swept steadily around the room before landing on Aldon. The barest hint of a polite smile made its way to his lips before his expression returned to the resting neutral.

It was still a warmer greeting than Aldon had gotten during Edmund’s last visit, almost a month ago when Aldon wanted to show him the Siberian Saberlion’s new litter. It had taken weeks of good behaviour and days of negotiations for his mother to arrange another visit so soon, and Aldon would ensure that it didn’t go to waste. Aldon beamed at Edmund in return.

“… Aldon and Edmund would like to get on with their play date, wouldn’t they?” Lady Rookwood said in response to a question Aldon hadn’t heard.

Aldon looked beseechingly at his mother.

The barest hint of fondness entered her smile, and she sighed. “Very well then. Igga!”

Aldon’s nurse-elf popped into being beside the doorway, sinking into a deep bow

“Tell Elseph that Aldon and the young Mr. Rookwood are on their way, then come back and escort the boys over.”

Igga popped away before she straightened from her bow.

Aldon grinned at Edmund, who looked back with a questioning raise of an eyebrow.

Aldon’s mother swept in closer and placed a light hand on Lady Rookwood’s shoulder. Looking down at Aldon and Edmund, she smiled, eyes crinkling with the semblance of kindness. “Off you go, then.” Then to Aldon: “Use the west exit, won’t you? You always trip on the stairs at the main entrance.”

“Yes, Mother.” Aldon bowed slightly in acknowledgement, then grabbed Edmund’s arm and dragged him down the hall, where Igga awaited them.

“Now, Cecilia, please come sit down. You simply _must_ tell me what happened at the Selwyns’ last week. I was so sad I wasn’t able to attend…”

As the sound of socialising faded into the distance, Aldon slowed down a little, loosening his grasp on Edmund’s wrist enough that he could slip out, if he so desired.

Instead, Edmund twisted his hand so that they were holding hands more normally, and caught up a bit to Aldon. “What are we doing today? Mother wouldn’t tell me.”

Aldon grinned again. “It’s a sur _—_ ” At Edmund’s slight scowl, Aldon cut himself off and pouted slightly. “I was to start my riding lessons this year, and I asked my mother if someone could join me.”

Edmund’s frown didn’t go away entirely, so Aldon hastened to add, “Horses, winged horses. We’ve always had a small herd of them, and I’ve always wanted to ride them, but Father said not until I’m five years old, but then he said not until it’s spring, and it’s spring now and I’m five years old, so we get flying lessons now!”

Edmund’s frown faded, and their eye contact broke as Edmund started looking at the various portraits on the walls of the Rosier Estate with thinly veiled curiosity.

“Have you ridden on a winged horse before?”

Edmund shook his head.

“They’re really pretty! Well, I don’t think ours are as pretty because they’re kind of a muddy type of brown, and when Mother took me to visit the Greengrasses in January they had a different breed that were _silver_. I’d say they looked like unicorns, but Lady Parkinson says unicorns are only silver when they’re little, and the winged horses at the Greengrasses’ were _huge_. Father says some winged horses could get even _bigger_ , but they’re difficult to keep and the only families in England with the spare energy to deal with them are the Lestranges and the Sel _—_ ”

Edmund had suddenly stopped. “Weren’t we supposed to avoid the stairs?”

Behind them, Igga made a concerned noise. “Mistress is saying to use a different door?”

Aldon squinted into the sunny outdoors. They were, in fact, at the exact door that they were supposed to avoid. Aldon shrugged. “But this way is faster. Come on, Igga, we don’t have to tell mother.”

With that, Aldon skipped down the stairs, Edmund in a slightly unwilling tow behind him. “Mother says I never look at where I’m going when I rush around, which is why I trip so often.”

Aldon glanced backwards and, upon seeing Edmund’s wry smile, grinned brilliantly in response. “Come on, we haven’t all day!”

Outside, a light breeze swept through the grounds with a youthful vigour, ruffling grass and hair alike. The sky above the estate was a clear blue with not even a wisp of cover, but in a circle around them was a veil of low-hanging clouds, dark and heavy with storm. Just beyond the edges of the wards, the rains raged, discouraging any Muggles from venturing outdoors.

Past the gardens, down a gentle slope, beside the large wooden stables that housed a number of elegant creatures that had attracted the attention of either of Aldon’s parents, a distant figure stood; Elseph was a halfblood a few decades senior to Aldon’s parents. She had originally come under the Rosier family’s employ as a kneazle breeder for Aldon’s grandmother, but her duties had expanded to include taking care of not only the clusters of various felines that the estate housed in honour of the late Lady Rosier’s portrait, but also the stables, the owlery, the three fish ponds in the gardens, and, more recently, Aldon himself.

Sometimes Aldon wondered at the significance behind his mother relegating his care to a house elf and the beastmistress.

As Aldon and Edmund neared the crest of the slope, Aldon slipped his hand out of Edmund’s hold. He smiled at Edmund, then said, “I’ll race you there?”

Without waiting for a response, Aldon swept downhill, relishing in the caress of the breeze against his face, the ripple of cloth as his robes billowed out behind him. As he neared the bottom of the hill, closer to where Elseph stood, sternly unamused, his feet thudded harder and harder into softer and softer soil. Just as he felt the grass beneath his sensible dragonhide boots slip in an unexpected direction, Aldon flipped into the air.

“Good morning, Miss Elseph.” Aldon hung by his ankles, faced away from his nurse. As he abashedly tried to keep the hems of his robes up to maintain propriety, an upside-down Edmund carefully made his way up an upside-down slope.

“Young Master,” Elseph admonished, her aged voice like glass shards crunching against stone.

“Apologies, Miss Elseph, I hadn’t thought the ground would be so slippery.”

Unceremoniously, Aldon flipped upright again, stumbling heavily onto his feet. He gave Elseph a sheepish look.

As Edmund stepped up beside Aldon, Elseph squared her shoulders slightly and brushed non-existent lint off the front of her robes. “Young Master and young Master Rookwood, if you’ll both follow me.”

She led them around the entrance of the stables that housed the Saberlions and out into the fields where two young Aethonans grazed. They were young enough that their shoulders weren’t quite as tall as Elseph’s head, but their wings were still impressively wide, a dark cut of grey steel against the backdrop of their chestnut coats. They were clothed in woolen grey saddle blankets that matched their wings, and bridled in a strikingly pale shade of leather that stood out against their coats.

Soon enough, Aldon and Edmund suffered through Elseph’s safety drills and sat atop matching pale saddles.

Edmund didn’t seem as taken with the horses as he had been with the Saberlion cubs the last time he came here. He clutched the bridle with tight fists and glanced frequently down at the ground.

Elseph didn’t seem to notice, so Aldon affected a slight wobble to his voice and called her over. “Are, we going to _—_ will we fly today?” Perched on the saddle, Elseph seemed so much smaller and less intimidating to Aldon than she did when he had both feet on the ground. She still had the same dead glaze over her pale blue eyes, though, the one that said she’d watched the rise of three generations of Rosiers and that she would see the fall of all three as well. Aldon gave her a slightly beseeching pout.

Something in her softened, and she said, “You’re not ready to take off yet. We’ll just take a slow walk around the fields for the colts to get used to you, and so you can get used to them, too.”

The way she spoke made it seem like that had been the plan all along, but Aldon knew she had made it up on the spot.

Up ahead, Edmunds shoulders relaxed fractionally.

It was two laps around the fields before Elseph slowly led them around to the back of the stables, where stood a door large enough for even the adult Aethonans to fit through comfortably. By the end of the second lap, Edmund had relaxed enough to start stroking the wings of his colt, gently carding his fingers through the soft, short feathers near the wing joint.

Elseph helped Edmund dismount first, and Aldon saw a small handful of steel grey feathers peek out of Edmund’s right pocket as his robes got jostled. Edmund quickly smoothed his hands down his sides, laying flat his robes and effectively tucking the feathers back into hiding.

Elseph sent a quick cleaning spell over the two of them, leaving Aldon’s neck feeling like it was scrubbed raw. As Elseph ushered them out of the stables, Igga popped by with a summons for lunch, and the two boys followed the elf sedately back up the hill. The Rookwoods would probably stay for lunch, but Aldon was supposed to have lessons this afternoon, so Edmund would have to leave before then.

Above them, the circle of blue sky shrank steadily, and soon enough the sun disappeared, lending the Rosier Estate a foreboding complexion against a backdrop of dark storms. Almost the second after they stepped inside, fat drops of rain began to patter against the stone steps outside the main entrance.

Heavy oak doors creaked shut, sealing the warmly lit halls from the cold air outside. The dampness was undeterred, however, and seemed to permeate the halls. The yellow magelights that congregated above their heads seemed rather watery compared to the brilliant sunlight from earlier this morning.

Aldon shivered a little. “Edmund, are you cold? Igga, go get that grey cloak my mother brought from France last week, and also my blue cloak.”

Once Igga popped away, Aldon leaned in slightly closer to Edmund and whispered, “I’m sure Elspeth has some prettier feathers lying around, if you wanted a memento. They make nice quills.”

Edmund only pursed his lips in response, not in embarrassment, but in annoyance.

“What were they for, then, if not a memento?”

Edmund shrugged and looked around at the unfamiliar halls, his eyes lingering on some of the stately portraits.

Aldon heaved an internal sigh and turned at the next left, bringing Edmund into a spare storage room with bare walls and empty shelves.

“So?”

The corner of Edmund’s lips twitched slightly, though Aldon couldn’t be sure if it was an aborted grin or grimace. He handed Aldon a fluffy feather from his pocket, then reached into his collar to pull out a strange sort of pendant _—_ if it could even be called that. It was a pale, creamy feather, big enough to cover a teacup and twice the size of the one in Aldon’s hand. A thin leather cord wrapped around its stem, turning it into a very makeshift necklace.

For the first time since this morning, Edmund spoke again; “I’m supposed to figure out where this came from.”

“It’s the same shape, isn’t it?” Aldon held up the feather in his hand for comparison.

“I’ve checked almost all the owls I could get my hands on, and the feathers they have near the top of their wing _—_ covert feathers _—_ are much much smaller. I couldn’t figure out how she could have gotten a feather from what looked to be a hippogriff, never mind that hippogriff feathers are almost always striped, but…” Edmund shrugged inelegantly.

Aldon tried not to focus on the fact that Edmund had just said more in one breath than he had probably ever said to Aldon previously and, instead, looked more closely at the big feather around Edmund’s neck. “It’s probably from a winged horse, too, though a bigger type. But most of the ones in England should be the same breed as our herd, and even the adult ones we have aren’t that big. Who gave it to you?”

Edmund smiled, a proper smile, this time, and Aldon tried to pretend it was for him. “Alice, Miss Alesana Selwyn. She’s older than you by almost two years. She bet I'd take at least a month to figure out what it was.”

Something deep within Aldon’s chest sank heavily into the pit of his stomach. Aldon smiled brightly, hoping it didn’t look quite as brittle as he felt. “Then it’s from their Abraxans,” Aldon enunciated carefully. “They’re a continental breed. My Lestrange cousins have a pair, but the Selwyns have an entire herd.”

“Really? I never knew that.” Edmund smiled again, brighter this time, and even though it was directed at the fluffy grey feather in Aldon’s hand, that smile seemed to chase away the dampness that had plagued Aldon ever since they headed back inside.

Aldon smiled back, more genuinely, this time. “I promise.”

One day, Aldon would be the reason behind that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Yes I know they sound nothing like five year olds but this is honestly the best I can do.~~


	2. over a fallen leaf (to turn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question: Who loses, Aldon or Alice?  
> The answer: Edmund.

Quiet murmurs cast a shadow of cosiness upon the austere upholstery of the Slytherin common room. It was late afternoon, and a warm sunset backlit the murky depths of the lakewater outside the windows, illuminating the few armchairs before it with a soft glow. At the edges of this mellow atmosphere, Edmund floated; his pulse fluttered, and his fingers prickled with inexplicable numbness. He breathed in, held it for three seconds, then breathed out again.

Aldon was with him, as he often was nowadays, and they sat in a secluded group of chairs near the windows —a coveted spot. They would need to give it up later in the evening, once more upperclassmen were let out of classes, but, for now, they could stay; no second-year seemed able to stand against the haughty glare of the Rosier Heir, and Edmund wasn’t one to complain about his seat being _too_ comfortable.

True to the image of his family, Aldon lounged in the low-backed armchair across from Edmund, reading a fashion magazine with a French title. His golden eyes held a subdued sort of intent that belied his choice of reading material —as well as it should, for Edmund knew full well that the “magazine” disguised a text on enchantment theory; it was only with Edmund’s help that Aldon had managed the transfiguration necessary to hide such a hefty tome in such a flimsy booklet (not that Aldon had given any satisfactory answer to Edmund’s questions regarding why his academic interests had to remain a secret).

Far away, the bells chimed, signaling the end of the hour. A few of their peers stirred from their indolence, readying to vacate their seats for the influx of third and fourth years. Aldon looked up, first at the slow shift of mood in the common room, then at the longcase clock by the corner, and then finally at Edmund. There was a pause, then Aldon righted himself to a less casual posture, shoulders back with the facade of confidence, back straight with polite alertness. Perhaps it was Edmund’s own projection, but there seemed a restless air about Aldon, as if he hoped to fidget.

Edmund, too, sat up straighter, though the subject of their meeting today wouldn’t be here for another while yet; Care of Magical Creatures took place in the Forbidden Forest today, and it would take no less than fifteen minutes before Alice could make it back to the common room.

Alice had argued extensively with Lady Selwyn regarding the propriety of a “young lady dirtying her hands with animals” before she was allowed to take the electives she wanted, so hopefully she had enjoyed an interesting class. It was Alice’s turn to give Edmund a puzzle this month, and he looked forward to the challenge that her expanded access to magical creatures might provide him. Perhaps seeing his struggle would also provide her some form of amusement; Alice could use some cheering up these days, considering the recent passing of the younger Miss Selwyn.

As they waited, Edmund became tempted, perhaps hypocritically, to remind Aldon to breathe; Aldon sat stiffly, seemingly not moving a single muscle, and, though his gaze never wavered from his “magazine”, he turned no pages. Edmund counted two cycles of breathing for himself before returning to his History of Magic essay.

Two distracted inches about one of the goblin wars later, Aldon suddenly set his readings face-down over the arm of his chair. Not a moment later, Alice’s distinctive voice drifted over the din of conversation as she bid a brusque farewell to her friends, Miss Harris and Miss Woodcroft.

Edmund stood up immediately to catch her eye. Alice wore her masses of dark hair in a high ponytail, though the day’s toil had since mussed it up slightly. She wore her uniform neatly, and beyond the slight sheen of sweat at her temples, there were few signs that she had come from an entire afternoon tending to sundry magical beasts. There was always a harsh set to her mouth nowadays, a slight frown in her resting expression, though it softened when she met his gaze. She strolled with leisure confidence over to the seats claimed by Aldon and Edmund, smoothing out her uniform as she approached.

Edmund smiled. “Miss Selwyn, I hope today has found you well.”

She gave an aloof nod in return. “As well as can be expected.” For an answer, it was unabashedly vague, almost hostile in the silent assumption: _you should know how well I’ve been_.

Time froze for a moment, even as the buzzing chatter all around them continued. Then Edmund blinked and gave a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure to have you join us.” He threw a quick glance behind himself to ensure that Aldon had stood up, then said, “May I introduce my dear friend, Aldon Rosier?” He paused as Aldon nodded politely. “Aldon, this is Miss Alesana Selwyn.”

There seemed to be a missing beat during which Alice did not offer her hand; then Aldon bowed instead over the space where her hand would have gone. “I’ve looked forward to our meeting, Miss Selwyn. Edmund has been ever so remiss to keep such a lovely lady to himself.” Aldon smiled with superficial charm.

Alice smiled in return with stiff politeness. “It’s refreshing to see that Edmund has found another friend at last.”

There was another offbeat stretch of silence before Edmund realised it was his turn to speak: “Please, sit. I’m sure you are tired after your trek into the Forest today, Alice.”

Alice smoothed her robes once again before taking the remaining seat. As she opened her mouth to speak, however, Aldon moved his abandoned magazine from the arm of his chair to the low table between them all with a haphazard slap, effectively interrupting whatever she had planned to say.

It wasn’t until Aldon had settled that she finally opened her mouth again, her carefully polite intonation giving way to the bored drawl that came more naturally to her. “Have you an interest in textiles, Mr. Rosier?”

Aldon shifted into an artificially languid lean onto his left elbow, gaze sharpening unreadably. “My father was looking into continental business ventures.”

“An ever-dutiful heir,” Alice praised in vain, and Edmund immediately regretted that he hadn’t better explained to her the details of Aldon’s contrary nature.

Predictably, Aldon stiffened just the slightest fraction. With a nod at the gaudy magazine cover, he asked, “Does Miss Selwyn’s tastes trend towards Parisian styles, then?”

“I’m afraid I’m quite uninterested in couture.”

Aldon quickly followed the expected answer with: “Edmund has mentioned that you share his passion for magical creatures.”

Edmund shared a quick grin with Alice and said, “It was actually Alice that inspired said passion.”

“But surely you don’t plan to seek career prospects in such an area?” Aldon asked.

Edmund turned with a sharp glance. Aldon couldn’t have known that he had touched on a sore point for Alice, yet there had been a layer of undeniable sharpness behind his words.

Alice froze carefully in a facsimile of flippant regret. “I have conceded such a point in my discussions with my parents. My mother intends for me to pursue runic academia.”

Before Edmund could lead the discussion into ancient runes (a rare overlap between his two friends’ interests), Aldon glibly asked, “And how have Lord and Lady Selwyn been doing of late?”

The question was met by a moment of stunned silence, during which Aldon’s expression shifted rapidly from his charming smile to a dismayed bite of his lips.

A few moments into abject discomfiture, Alice finally said, “As well as can be expected.”

“My condolences, Miss Selwyn.” Both Aldon’s expression and voice were moulded into the perfect semblance of contrition.

Alice nodded in acceptance. “It was nothing unexpected.” Instead of the casual apathy that she had probably meant to affect, there was a softness to Alice’s voice and expression that she rarely showed in front of others.

A heated flare of protectiveness rose from a pit at the bottom of Edmund’s stomach, and he made a show of gathering the meagre inches of his long-abandoned History of Magic essay. “Well, I’m sure Alice would like some time to regroup with her friends before dinner starts.”

Aldon took his escape gracefully, standing up and bowing in farewell. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Selwyn.”

“Likewise.” Alice brushed off her robes once again before standing, nodding at Aldon, smiling tightly at Edmund, and sweeping off to the third year dormitories.

It wasn’t until Edmund and Aldon had returned to their own dorm room to drop their bags off for dinner that either of them spoke again.

“Well, that could have gone better,” said Aldon as he flopped dramatically onto his bed.

Edmund walked briskly over to Bole’s drawn curtains, flipping them open a crack to ensure that their roommate had left already, before he closed their door. By the time Edmund returned, Aldon had sat upright again, golden eyes staring keenly into Edmund’s gaze. Edmund took a deep breath and breathed out in a slow stream that was decidedly _not_ a sigh, then inhaled again before asking in a carefully offhand tone, “Did you intend to antagonise her, Aldon?”

Aldon didn’t so much as blink when he responded, “Would you believe me if I said no?”

Edmund desperately wanted to believe him just then, but Aldon’s answering question seemed intentionally self-incriminating. “I don’t understand why you would feel the need to offend her when you know that I had been looking forward to introducing the two of you. I would love it if my friends could get along, Aldon.”

A hurt frown flashed across Aldon’s face, so quickly it must have been genuine, forcing Edmund to review the earlier events in a different light. “I wasn’t—”

“Did you really have no ulterior motive behind asking after her family?”

“It was a mistake, Edmund. I, I wasn’t thinking.”

Edmund peered into Aldon’s earnest gaze.

Several moments later, Aldon blinked. “Would you like me to apologise to her? I genuinely didn’t mean to upset her.”

Edmund sighed. “She’s not the type to appreciate public apologies for private affronts.”

“But you would like me to apologise to her.” Not for the first time tonight, there seemed to be a hidden layer to Aldon’s words, some sense of finality, or disappointment, perhaps, as if _Aldon_ was the aggrieved party.

Edmund suddenly found he wasn’t in the mood to play word games with Aldon. “Are you sorry for upsetting her, or are you sorry for upsetting me?” he snapped. Then, without waiting for an answer, he stood up and marched stiffly out of the room.

Aldon didn’t show up to dinner, but Alice waved Edmund over to where the third years sat for a far more casual introduction to some of her friends. Edmund sat politely through the small talk and gossip of upperclassmen he didn’t care about, eating mechanically and trying desperately not to eye the almost imperceptible gap at the table across from Derrick and Bole.

After a thoroughly tasteless cup of cider syllabub, Edmund finally found a convenient pause in conversation in which to excuse himself, returning Alice’s questioning quirk of an eyebrow with a reserved smile and a murmured excuse about homework.

Halfway to the dungeons, Alice caught up to him. Between her afternoon meeting and dinner, she had let her hair out of its confines, and, standing at the top of the drafty stairway, it billowed out behind her, enveloping her in a halo of dark tendrils. 

She practically floated down the stairs before smiling at him, bright and unreserved. “I wanted to give you this,” she said, pressing a silk-wrapped bundle into his hands. Then her eyes sharpened in mischief, and she added, “You have until sunset tomorrow.”

Edmund smiled at her in turn, meeting her beaming eyes with his own fond gaze. “Changing the rules on me?”

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Have I misplaced faith in your abilities to rise to my challenge?”

Edmund scowled payfully. “I’ll have it back to you by morning,” he vowed, then turned on his heels to return to the Slytherin common room.

Though it wasn’t very late into the night, Edmund was exhausted by the time he returned to his dorm room, so Alice’s package went on his pillow while he went into the showers, resolutely ignoring the drawn curtains across from his bed and the oppressive silence that seemed to follow him around.

Aldon’s bed curtains were still closed when Edmund emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in comfortable sleepwear. For the briefest second, Edmund contemplated peeking them open to bid Aldon good night, but then the echo of heavy footsteps approached —Bole had returned.

Thus, Edmund instead shut his own curtains and delicately untied Alice’s gift. Pale violet satin fell away like water, revealing a small pile of… kindling? Three neatly shorn twigs sat innocently at the centre of the handkerchief. They had the pale colouration of new growth and indistinct striations that signaled ancestry from many possible trees or brushes, but Edmund was at a loss otherwise. What did twigs have to do with creatures?

Beyond the confines of his bed, Bole rustled about the room. There came the click of a door being opened, then the soft slam of it being shut.

Edmund sighed and rolled onto his side to consider his puzzle, but his eyelids fought an uphill battle against weariness. It was with his clues still clutched in his hand that he fell asleep.

Edmund woke well before dawn to an empty hand. His curtains had been pulled ajar, though a comforter blanketed him that had not been there last night.

Aldon sat across from him, blinking haggardly at a small pile of twigs in his hand.

Edmund coughed gently and was rewarded with an answering twitch from Aldon, who looked up with a guilty bite to his lips.

“What time is it?” Edmund whispered, wary of Bole’s gentle snores.

“Three hours until breakfast.”

Edmund closed his eyes and resisted the temptation to burrow under his covers. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Who needs sleep?”

An image came to Edmund, unbidden, of Aldon lying sleeplessly in his bed for all of yesterday evening. Edmund heaved a sigh and sat up with effort.

Quietly, Edmund cleared his throat of sleepy dryness. “I shouldn’t have said that to you yesterday. I was— it was unfair to—” He couldn’t quite find the words to finish his thought.

“It’s quite reasonable that you would be upset about me prioritising your disapproval over Miss Selwyn’s grief. It was my personal failing for overlooking that fact,” Aldon responded in an uncharacteristically diplomatic way. “Perhaps there will— I hope time will allow for a better understanding to develop between Miss Selwyn and I.”

Edmund took it as the apology it was and nodded, holding eye contact with Aldon in the dim light of their room. Then, when Aldon seemed not to have anything further to say, Edmund held out a hand.

Aldon obediently returned the silken bundle. In a deliberately offhand manner, he asked, “Is this her new clue for you?”

Edmund smiled wryly. “I told her I’d figure it out by morning.”

“A bold claim,” Aldon praised sardonically. “So what is it?”

“I’m not too sure. I didn’t expect her to give me plants.”

A suspicious smirk tugged at the corner of Aldon’s lips. “Did you know there were a few casualties in her class yesterday? None of the students, mind you —we would have heard about that— but a few of the creatures they were learning to care for. I heard the gamekeeper complaining to Professor Kettleburn.”

Which raised two questions for Edmund. He waited.

“Bowtruckles, Ed,” Aldon said in a tone that satirised noble superiority.

Edmund glanced down. He picked up a twig to peer at the cross section of the cut end. Sure enough, there was a strange sheen of something sticky —the sap-like blood of bowtruckles. He put pressure on both ends, pressing it between his fingers. For a moment, it felt as if the twig would snap like most twigs would, but then it curved, unnaturally supple. Edmund released the pressure, and the twig sprung back. Not a single sign of stress remained at the bent segment.

Edmund looked back up at Aldon. There was still another question to be answered.

Aldon ran a sheepish hand through his hair. “I snuck out last night —to the edges of the forest, and, well—” From behind his half-open curtains, he brought out a hefty jar, seemingly completely empty, covered at the top with a thin layer of gauzy linen.

A closer look revealed a single sprig of three skinny leaves, comically undersized for its container. Edmund stared quizzically.

Aldon raised the jar above his head, peering at something on the underside of the leaves. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he found, he thrust his jar at Edmund. “Look.”

Though Edmund was tempted to untie its cloth cover and take the leaves out, he thought better of it. Instead, he mimicked Aldon’s earlier movements to look on the underside. Tiny pinpricks of pink and orange and yellow dotted the silvery undersides, grouping closer at the stems. Edmund frowned.

“What do you think?”

Edmund set the jar down on his bedside table. “Is it blighted?”

Aldon smirked again, very gleefully. “They’re fairy eggs, laid just last night!”

Bole chose that moment to let out an especially large snore, almost as if to punctuate Aldon’s excitement.

Edmund looked at the handkerchief in his lap, then up at the jar on the table. From this angle, it almost looked like a barren branch of olive leaves.

Across from him, Aldon sat on his hands. There was something tenuous beneath his smirk, an expectant sort of patience.

Edmund looked away. “I suppose it is my turn again to give something to Alice.”


	3. on an uneven scale (two thumbs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question: Who wins, Aldon or Alice?  
> The answer: No.

Throngs of socialites weaved around one another, like so many lurid fairies ornamenting the gilded flower that was the Rosier ballroom. The eerie music of merpeople conducted their movements with a sheer veneer of elegance that failed to hide the garish opulence behind it all.

Despite herself, Alesana enjoyed it. A bright haze clouded her mind —less from the alcohol that she hadn’t yet ingested, but rather from the infectiously frivolous mood around her and the smallest knot of pique tugging at the base of her throat.

Edmund was nowhere to be seen, and her mother looked beseechingly at her. With a small sigh, Alesana straightened from where she was leaning on a wall and headed into the crowd as the orchestra signalled the approaching start of the first song.

Just then, she caught sight of Aldon Rosier cutting a sharp line through the readying dancers, heading pointedly away from the longing glance of that Fawley chit. A pretty flush highlighted his delicate features already, more likely to be from the punch than the stuffy ballroom air. It was with mischief that Alesana intercepted his hasty retreat.

“Aldon,” she greeted with exaggerated warmth, “surely the heir to our lovely hosts wouldn’t have his first dance free tonight.”

Rosier’s answering smile was flawlessly charming. “Alice,” he said with equal affection, a bit more loudly than was necessary for casual conversation. “Did Edmund not tell you that he tasked me to guard your honour in his absence? Surely you wouldn’t leave me to report failure to my dearest friend.” Behind him, Evana Fawley turned on her heels rather abruptly and headed in the direction of the refreshment tables.

Alesana graciously offered her hand and, as he bowed over it, said, “Never let it be said that I turned down the coveted attentions of Heir Rosier.”

“My lady is free to leave my pining heart in shatters,” Rosier demurred, but, as the new song started up, he offered a courteous hand.

She reluctantly took it. “Tone it down, will you? Your audience has left already.”

His eyes caught on something behind her, and, as they spun around, she saw that it must have been the sight of Edmund standing on one of the balconies, speaking with Rigel Black. Rosier’s expression remained in a genial smile, and his tone was perfectly casual as he said, “Guilty conscience?”

If there was one thing to be said for conversations with Rosier, it was that she was never bored by them. “Projecting much?” Alesana cast a pointed glance at where his hand met her waist. Looking from without, his posture seemed relaxed and confident, but Alesana could feel how stiffly he held his limbs about her.

Rosier laughed as if she had told a great joke —which she supposed she might have. In tune with the swell of music, he twirled her around none-too-gently, then said, “He greatly values your friendship.”

There was no doubt about whom "he" referred to. For a few measures of the music, Alesana considered her response. She swallowed a smirk as she said, as neutrally as possible, “Your name came up during negotiations over the summer.”

Rosier showed unguarded surprise at her words. It was well-known amongst the right circles that Lady Selwyn and Lady Rosier —though second cousins— did not get along.

“It was my father’s suggestion.” There were few suitable pureblooded gentlemen her age that remained unrelated to her; Aldon Rosier was far enough removed that their hypothetical courtship wouldn’t cause scandal, especially considering his family’s absurd wealth.

“You refused.” It was said as a statement of fact, yet a sliver of uncertainty slipped through in his expression.

Alesana contemplated toying with him further, but, as a concerned frown began to mar his brows, she decided to take pity: “Of course.”

They fell silent again. Rosier’s frown faded, but didn’t disappear completely.

While it was refreshing to see even a hint of authenticity from him, she felt compelled to add, “Edmund is too perfect a match to pass up.” The Rookwood name wasn't as prestigious as the Rosier name, but Alesana’s mother and Lady Rookwood had been friends since their years at Hogwarts, and Edmund’s affections for Alesana had also not gone unnoticed.

The hand around her waist relaxed slightly, and Rosier’s slight frown took on a wistful twist as his eyes unfocused. “Such serendipity is rare amongst our circles.” The music swelled again, and he twirled her, more gently this time.

The gaiety that had plagued her all evening suddenly cleared, like morning mist in the sunshine of noon. Alesana wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. It was difficult to face her own luck in light of Rosier’s… whatever problem it was that plagued him. “Edmund is fortunate to have you as a friend.” She caught and held his clouded gaze.

His eyes narrowed slightly, then he sighed almost imperceptibly. “I never know if I’d rather you be less likeable, or more.”

Alesana stayed silent until the song reached its pinnacle. Then, as the bustle of changing songs swarmed around them, she murmured, “Then isn’t it convenient that I’m just the right amount of amiable?” She smiled in mockery of Rosier’s charm, then curtsied at an angle just shy of propriety and left for the refreshment tables.

Annoyingly, Rosier followed behind her. The flush had faded slightly from his cheeks, and, vindictively, Alice grabbed two glasses of punch.

If it discomfited Rosier that a lady was serving him his punch, he didn’t show it. Instead, his expression had returned to that mockery of an affable smile. “Not going to dance the second set?”

“I find myself overly warm,” she lied. “Cheers,” she said, then downed most of her punch in one go. A brief moment of vertigo threatened to overcome her, but she blinked it away, looking innocently at Rosier.

It didn’t quite goad him into anything as inelegant as gulping his beverage, but he did take a large sip, and a pause before he swallowed hinted at his reluctance.

“Surely you have better things to be doing than escorting me around,” Alesana prompted.

Rosier took another sip before he answered, “The lesser of the evils. And also Edmund might get upset again if he thinks I’ve slighted you.”

“Does that happen often?” she asked wryly, then finished off her punch.

“Yes,” he answered, completely serious.

Not for the first time tonight, Alesana was at a loss for words. Thus, she got a refill of punch.

Rosier finished his glass before speaking again; “I suppose I just wanted to make sure that you hold him in a similar esteem.”

This was perhaps the most straightforward statement Alesana had ever heard out of him, and, before tonight, she might have found such honesty to be highly amusing coming from someone as superficial as Rosier, but looking now into his astoundingly earnest gaze, she couldn’t quite bring herself to return his demand with an irreverent quip.

Rosier inhaled impatiently, as if planning to say something, but Alesana interrupted.

“Yes.” No ironic jab about how many gender norms were reversed in their little situation, no lewd insinuations about how Rosier was concerning himself too intimately with Edmund’s romantic prospects, just a simple and honest answer, an offering of authenticity as brutal as Rosier’s question had been. “I do.”

For a moment, the words hung between them, suspended. Then Rosier exhaled, long and drawn out, and his endearingly arrogant posture returned, along with his typical air of charm. “Well, Alice,” —and oh, how it irked her that he used Edmund’s nickname for her— “I’d been meaning to give this to Edmund, but I hear that you’re to start the game in the new year, so—” Rosier took her empty punch glass with his empty hand, and in exchange tucked a small crystal phial. In it, suspended in a murky liquid, was a pair of scales, silver and gold and jewel-bright.

With that, Rosier swept away, carelessly handing their glasses to a passing server. His strides were confident, if a little wonky from inebriation, yet Alesana could no longer find his lack of alcohol tolerance as amusing as she had in the past. She clenched her fist around his gift, the hard ledges of its ornate stopper digging into her palms.

She followed his unsteady movements up to the balconies, where Edmund greeted him with fond ire. A slight pang tugged within her chest as they disappeared into a darkened balcony, but then Edmund emerged alone, looking about as frazzled as he ever got. Her wistful stare soured just the slightest when he sought out Pansy Parkison right as the third dance began.

She threw her attention instead to socialising, lingering discreetly by various interesting gatherings at the edges of the ballroom for stray wisps of gossip, but she learned little news of interest, and so she settled instead near the orchestra to admire their graceful movements. The merrows’ tails shone with more than just reflected light, brushed silver and brushed gold glowing bright even through the briny waters and spell-tinted glass. It was an unwelcome reminder of Rosier’s gift.

She opened the hand that still clutched onto the crystal phial of merrow scales. It glistened merrily. She sighed and tucked it into her pocket.

The haunting song reached a penultimate crescendo, and Alesana scanned the dancers for Edmund. She came just shy of accosting him as he bid a courteous farewell to Pansy.

He smiled without reserve when he saw her, sweeping into a brief bow before he offered a hand. “Miss Selwyn.”

The formality in his greeting was the most endearing thing she had heard all night. “Mr. Rookwood,” she returned, taking his hand as the song began.

For the first half, they simply danced, and Alesana savoured the slow swings of the music, the kaleidoscope of jewel-toned dress robes twirling around her. Edmund, never one for too many words, obliged her in companionable silence.

Then, as Edmund pulled her into his hold, she said, “I believe the victory is mine this year.”

He swung her back out, twirled her around a single time, and scowled playfully. “It was sheer luck that you managed to find the only P— the only first year in the entire school that could wrangle boomslangs.”

Alesana tutted. “Still indignant over that, dear Edmund? It was at the beginning of the year; you’ve had plenty of time to catch up.”

Edmund huffed a wry sigh, “Yet your duplicitous points made the difference.” Indeed, for their game this year had ended with fifteen for Alesana and fourteen for Edmund.

“We could count it as your victory instead,” she offered gallantly, “or as a draw.”

Edmund rewarded her with a deadpan stare.

She laughed, and his glare gave way to an answering smile.

He twirled her one last time as the song came to an end, and for a few seconds of eternity they froze in a closing pose of intimate embrace. Distantly, as if through a thin layer of poorly spell-proofed glass, she heard her heartbeat pounding.

Afterwards, she pulled Edmund into the hallways to escape the masses. Once she made clear her intentions, he took the lead and pulled her into a secluded alcove, barren even of sundry portraits and paintings.

Her eyebrow twitched upwards at his familiarity with the estate, and he smiled mischievously in response. “Aldon gets bored easily, so I’m invited over quite often.”

Alesana was reminded of her earlier encounter with Rosier. “You’re a good friend.”

Edmund’s smile turned fond. “He is as well.”

The flask of merrow scales sat in her pocket next to her wand, and she was ever so aware of it at that moment. She smiled in return, equal parts wry and wistful. “He certainly is.”

Edmund’s eyes widened the barest fraction at the absent sarcasm.

“We had a talk tonight,” she said.

Edmund’s smile fell slightly. “I saw.”

Alesana bit back a smirk. “He made attempts to… defend your honour, in a sense.”

“Do I want to know?”

Alesana huffed a short laugh. “Well then, how about we talk about our game?”

“Ah. Of course. What was the forfeit again?” Edmund pretended to forget.

Alesana considered for the barest moment. “Actually,” she reached into her pocket, “how’s this? If you figure out what this is by midnight, then I’ll count it as a point for you, and we’ll be in draw.” She held out her closed fist.

Edmund eyed her hand longingly, but hesitated. “Changing the rules again?”

“It’s in your favour, this time,” and it wasn’t Alesana changing the rules, per se; though Rosier couldn’t have known how she would spend his gift, she somehow thought that he would rather approve of this usage.

Edmund sighed fondly, then reached for her hand with both of his, gently prying it open.

At the centre of her hand sat the phial, the two scales within glowing softly with an inner luminescence, one in soft silver and the other in gentle gold.


End file.
